Seize the Time
by Kallie49
Summary: Jean-Luc Picard never even wanted children aboard the Enterprise, much less children of his own. Beverly Crusher finds she may be giving him reason to reconsider. Post-ep for "Disaster." P/C.
1. Chapter 1

This story is a little post-ep for the S5 episode "Disaster." It is A/U in assuming Picard and Crusher are in a relationship already, following the events of my story "How Good It Is to Sleep" - but it's not necessary to have read that one first. Story will be posted in two parts. Reviews are kindly welcomed.

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"All right, young man, your turn. Have a seat over here. You're Patterson, right?"

Bouncing nervously on his feet, the dark-haired boy nodded and kept his eyes downcast as he made his way to the indicated chair.

Beverly Crusher smiled at him and displayed her tricorder to indicate it was harmless. "I'm Dr. Crusher," she reminded him. "I'm just going to check you out and make sure everything's okay. Is that all right?"

Another reluctant nod. As the tricorder hummed, Beverly glanced across the ship's elementary school classroom and saw Deanna Troi engaged in animated conversation with another group of children. She and the counselor were tag-teaming today to do a quick check on the schoolchildren's physical and emotional health following the _Enterprise_ 's damaging encounter with a quantum filament. The rush of major and minor injuries that had afflicted the crew when the filament hit had mostly been taken care of over the past three days, while the ship limped along to the nearest starbase for extensive repairs. But as life aboard the ship slowly returned to normal, Beverly and Deanna had thought it prudent to check in on the children after an experience that had placed many of them in frightening situations.

The six-year-old in front of her now, she knew, had actually been stuck in a turbolift with the captain and two other children when the filament hit. She'd heard a brief version of events from Jean-Luc a few days earlier: how they'd had to escape the disabled turbolift and painstakingly climb up the turboshaft, despite Jean-Luc being hampered by a broken ankle, in order to finally escape to an open deck before power was restored. But she found she was curious to hear about the story from the children themselves. Patterson's two companions from that day had gravitated over now, along with a few others, to wait for their own turns to be checked, so she took the opportunity to pry gently.

"So, I heard you had quite the adventure this week," she said mildly as she turned her attention back to a few readouts displayed on her instrument.

"Mmhmm." Stopping his fidgeting as he was distracted by a new thought, the boy studied her for a moment, then blurted out, "You're married to Captain Picard, right?"

"Well, not yet," Beverly said, unruffled. She'd lived on a starship long enough to understand that few personal details could remain confidential for long among its small community; she was hardly surprised that information, however imprecise, trickled down even to the youngest crewmembers.

"Oh. Well, he was little scary."

"Patterson!" Marissa Flores, a shy nine-year-old with a long blonde ponytail, chided her classmate with a pained look. "That's not nice to say."

"He _was_ ," Patterson insisted.

"He's only like that because he doesn't have any kids," she explained to the younger boy in an exasperated tone that implied it should have been obvious.

Beverly raised an eyebrow in silent amusement, wondering what Deanna's take on that particular bit of analysis would be.

"But then he was nicer," Marissa added diplomatically.

"I agree." A serious blond boy—Jay Gordon Graas, Beverly remembered—spoke up from beside Marissa. At Beverly's questioning look, he explained, "He wouldn't let us visit the battle bridge. But he did make us officers."

"I was officer in charge of radishes!" Patterson announced, straightening up proudly on his seat.

"Ah. That's a very important job," Beverly agreed solemnly, while wondering, _Radishes?_

" _And_ he sang a song with us," he continued, brown eyes animated with enthusiasm.

"Really?" Beverly struggled to keep the incredulity out of her voice. It appeared there were _quite_ a lot of details Jean-Luc had left out of his own recounting of this story. She couldn't even imagine what songs he would _know_ , much less sing to children.

A vigorous nod. "It was _Frère Jacques_."

Jay Gordon chimed in again with his earnest demeanor. "It helped us to be brave when we were climbing in the turboshaft. He was a good captain."

"He certainly is a good captain," she affirmed. "Well. I'm glad everyone got out of the turbolift all right. And now you're all done, Patterson. See? All good." Beverly smiled warmly at the children as she showed the younger boy her tricorder.

"Okay." He furrowed his brow as he studied the readouts, pretending he could understand them, and then started to hop away, but not before turning around to add brightly, "But Captain Picard is still a little scary."

" _Patterson!_ " wailed Marissa.


	2. Chapter 2

"'Scary'?" Jean-Luc Picard paused with his mug halfway in the air, and a grimace tugged at his lips. "That wasn't my aspiration."

"Jean-Luc, you can intimidate Klingons under the right circumstances," his companion pointed out from her settled perch in his armchair. "Along with any number of junior officers. I don't think you realize how you come across sometimes. A lot of people on this ship are a little bit afraid of you."

He harrumphed. "Not my chief medical officer, naturally."

Beverly smirked, pulling her slender legs up to tuck underneath her. "Naturally not."

Leaning back on his couch, Picard took a swallow of his coffee and frowned. "Well, I hope that was not the final impression left on our young students, despite the circumstances."

"No. In fact they all did say you helped them feel less frightened after the filament hit. By granting field commissions. And...singing?"

He glared at the familiar innocent look on her face. "They were all crying, and wouldn't listen to ord—wouldn't listen to me. I had to do something."

"Of course," she agreed, deadpan but unable to conceal the amusement in her lively blue eyes.

After a moment he relented with a sigh. "Beverly, I don't spend much time around children," he admitted. "It was—a difficult situation already without that added...complication." He took another sip, considering. "I will say that it ended up being one of the first times that I felt I had made any sort of connection with younger children."

"Oh, you did wonderfully." She bit her lip, somewhat regretting her initial impulse to be so hard on him, then shifted to sit forward in her chair to reassure him. "You're much better than you think with children. You know Wesley has always looked up to you."

Picard set down his mug on the coffee table and looked away. "Perhaps, although I'm sure that wasn't the case in the beginning," he demurred. "Well. I'm glad we had some time to overcome that before he left for the Academy."

"So am I," she said, stretching out to squeeze his arm, glad to catch a half-smile in response. Unable to resist needling him a bit more, though, she grinned, "Of course, if I'd known you could _sing_ to children as well as mentor them…"

" _Beverly_ ," he said in exasperation, withdrawing his arm.

"Sorry." She held up her palms in surrender, still smiling, but then wondered as he fell quiet again, staring down at the table. Belatedly it sank in how much she'd misjudged his mood this evening, and she kicked herself mentally. "Jean-Luc. Is everything all right?"

He rubbed at the gray hair at the back of his neck, and she perceived with some relief that he wasn't upset with her so much as unusually pensive. After another moment he glanced up at her, hazel eyes serious. "Have you never thought about the possibility of our having a child?"

Beverly blinked, surprised. All traces of mirth fled her expression.

A child— _their_ child—

These past months with him had been more fulfilling than she could ever have conceived of, before, when their latent affection had been carefully suppressed through all the years of their friendship. Brought to the forefront at last, they'd cultivated a relationship that was by turns passionately intense and contentedly relaxed. There were plenty of challenges that came along with making the shift, for their two quite strong personalities, from thinking _alone_ to thinking _together_ —she for the first time in over a decade, he for the first time ever, really—yet being together still somehow felt as natural as breathing. She could hardly imagine being without him...and accordingly, she could so easily imagine their love manifesting in children.

Towheaded, intelligent, independent, ridiculously stubborn children.

But Jean-Luc had never even broached the subject—and in fairness, neither had she. For his part, though he hadn't ever confided much, Beverly had inferred from the earliest they'd known each other that he had had an unhappy childhood. His estrangement from his father had been so pronounced that even after his father's death, Jean-Luc had stayed away from his remaining family for twenty years, until his recent visit after the Borg attack. Though it was true he was often better with children than he realized, he was more usually uncomfortable around them, and he hadn't originally wanted them aboard the _Enterprise_ at all. His position had softened somewhat over time, but she still had never imagined he would desire children of his own. To the contrary, he had spent his entire adult life without evidently regretting missed parenthood at all.

If she had never had the opportunity to be a mother, on the other hand, she thought she might have regretted it. But of course she had done so, largely on her own, even, and she had no _need_ to experience it again at this stage in her life. She was older now, at a much more established place in her career. Any child of theirs would be born to a captain and commander on a starship, far different circumstances than when she'd first embarked on the journey of motherhood on Earth as a young resident with an ambitious junior officer for her husband. Different, too, than raising a self-sufficient teenager onboard ship. So bringing a baby into their settled lives would be an enormous step for both of them—

Except their lives _weren't_ even all that settled, were they, what with the occasional Klingon civil war or Tyken's rift to navigate. She herself had nearly been blown out into vacuum this week, trying to put out a dangerous plasma fire in the ship's shuttle bay after the quantum filament had hit.

She acknowledged all of this, and yet still...

"Of course I've thought about it," she answered softly. "To be honest, I've simply assumed that _you_ might not want to. And I'd be perfectly fine with that."

A flash of what seemed almost to be disappointment passed over his face, but he nodded understanding. "I know you are, of course, already a mother," he said. "It would be only natural if you didn't want to start over again now."

"No, I _would_ be open to it," she corrected quickly. "I just didn't realize you would be." She paused and tilted her head at him, auburn hair falling over one shoulder. "Sorry. You've caught me off guard."

He smiled in apology. "You're right that I've never mentioned it. I suppose I believed that the possibility had long since been foreclosed. But since you and I… well, I have considered it."

As he held her gaze, Beverly felt their familiar attraction drawing her in and her heart started to beat faster. Were they really deciding to do this? She swallowed. "Well then…why not? Why not go ahead and seize the time?"

Picard sighed, and the smile faded into a troubled look. "I'm afraid I would have very little idea of how to be a father."

A rush of compassion swept through her. No, of course it couldn't be so simple. Gracefully unfolding herself from the armchair, she moved to sit beside him, covering his hand where it settled reflexively on her knee. "Jean-Luc, I don't think anyone really knows how to be a parent at first, but that's no reason not to try." She shrugged. "You just sort of figure it out."

He rubbed his thumb along her thigh absently in a calming motion. "But you see, that's hardly reassuring, is it? Because I didn't have a particularly good role model. I can't be certain I wouldn't make all the same mistakes."

Beverly's heart ached a little at the faint bitterness in his tone. About to marry the woman he'd loved half his life—after being convinced for almost as long that he would never have the chance—Jean-Luc's sheer, well, _happiness_ had started to bring out his innate warmth and humor, and even the occasional irreverence he'd had as a younger man, from behind his stoic exterior. But of course, in many ways he was still the same as he ever had been as _the captain_ : stern, reserved, a paragon of self-control. No matter how much he had softened around the edges, particularly with _her_ , one of the only people who he'd _ever_ allowed to see with his defenses down, he still carefully guarded his vulnerabilities; and she could see from the hunch of his shoulders that it was uncomfortable for him to admit to these self-doubts and painful history.

Her fingers tightened over his as she considered her words. "It probably sounds trite, but we all _do_ make mistakes," she began slowly. "I'm sure I've made more than I can count. But being _aware_ of what you don't want to emulate is the most important way to avoid falling into the same habits." She caught his eye, continued softly. "Jean-Luc, you would never have the same relationship with your child as with your father because you know you want things to be different."

A muscle twitched in his cheek. "I do appreciate that you believe that, Beverly. I'm not sure I have the same confidence," he admitted.

She leaned against him and felt him relax in spite of himself. "You should. You'd be a wonderful father, Jean-Luc. You're strong, honorable, kind..."

"And _scary_ ," he supplied.

She looked at him, surprised for a moment, then caught the hint of humor in his eyes and laughed. "All right. It's true. But there is a place for making sure your children are appropriately intimidated by you. So look at this way—you'll have that part down pat."

"Well, the rank ought to count for something, Doctor," he said dryly. "Even with one's own children."

Beverly shook her head, poking at his chest with her free hand. "Right. So I wouldn't worry about that, _Captain_."

Picard shifted to face her, his eyes turning somber again. "Regardless of my intentions, you know that it is often difficult for me to know how to be around children."

"I know," she assured him. "The thing about children is, you don't have to know how to be around all of them—you really just have to know how to be around _yours_. And you get to learn that from the beginning." She shrugged one shoulder again and let a little smile pull at her lips. "So what do you think?"

He squeezed her leg and returned the smile. "I think," he said carefully, "that I am marrying a wise woman. And if you are serious about being open to the possibility of a child, I would be very glad indeed, because I _know_ you are an excellent mother." A subtly suggestive glimmer came into his eyes. "We would, of course, need much more practice in regards to conceiving said child."

"I think that can be arranged." She leaned in and kissed him, snaking her arms up over his shoulders, then pulled back as a stray thought popped into her mind. "Before that, though, I do have one piece of advice for the children you've already commissioned as junior officers." She smiled as he raised a questioning eyebrow, amused. "If you take them on another tour of the ship once we've finished all our repairs? Let them see the battle bridge."

"Very well." He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. "As long as we're clear that there will be no singing of any kind."

Beverly laughed again. Wanting to be agreeable, she said: "Of course not."

But she thought: _You can save that...for our child..._


End file.
